


The Taste of Purple

by Quinara



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Asexuality, Gen, comment!fic, season: pre-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinara/pseuds/Quinara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1980: Ethan picks someone up in a pub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Purple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jackandahat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jackandahat).



> For jackandahat's prompt at asexual_fandom's comment fest: BtVS; Ethan Rayne; Of course he flirts - but that's as far as it goes.

There's a girl at the bar he's got his eye on. She can't be, what, more than twenty? But she has the look, fire in her eyes as she drinks something dark from a wine glass. Everyone knows this pub is a place to hook up for a good time, but you do get the odd ingénue riding on the wrong end of the stick, so caution's always the best way forward.

She's seen him looking now, the swishing wall of her brown hair twitching as she watches him in the mirror. From his booth he can just see her face, above a bottle of Gordon's and Cinzano, and she's good entertainment as he nurses his scotch. Slowly she winks, and waves with her fingers, the tiniest bolt of red magic slipping over and under her knuckles. He realises then that she _is_ his sort of girl. The night just got interesting.

Still, it could be she's looking for something tantric, so he'd better make clear what he has on offer. He offers her a smile then taps his thumb ring against the rim of his glass, shuts his eyes and channels some spare magic through his body, letting it go where it will. In an instant one of the lights turns blue, and the telly switches over from the news to a film about zombies. Not that exciting, but his trade's in the unexpected.

He looks back and... Damn, it's not to be. The girl wrinkles her nose, unamused as she turns away. He shrugs and leans back against his seat.

But then, behind his head, there's a voice. "Mind if I join you?" It's a boy, about the same as as the girl, with a pint glass of something purple. Whipcord thin and dressed like Paul Weller. Buzzing with some sort of energy.

"Please," Ethan says, and watches as the boy leaves his glass in the air, sitting at the table then pulling it back to his hands with a click of his fingers. Showboating. He's seen better.

"Didn't know they had zombies in Beirut," Paul offers. (It'll be a time till Ethan knows his name; this'll do for now.)

Ethan smirks, liking the boy's tone, even if he seems eager to please. "You'd be surprised what they have."

"You've been there?" There's wonder in his eyes, like he wants to be jaded but hasn't fallen hard enough yet. Ethan fucking loves youth.

"Mate, I've been everywhere." _I can take you somewhere new._

Paul nods, taking a slurp of his drink.

Then Ethan works out what it is. "Is that a bloody Snakebite?" He snorts. "What are you, twelve?"

But Paul is unashamed, secure despite his naïveté. It's attractive. "I like the name," he says with a shrug, locking eyes with Ethan. "I like the colour and I like the taste." He speaks slowly, taking care over the words, and part of Ethan's brain is transported to that place where he always ends up, the synaesthetic playground where magic takes him, where colour and taste and smell and touch are all the same thing and his mind is absolutely free. There's a party on tonight, he remembers, up in Kentish Town...

"You want purple," Ethan tells him, "you can do better than that."

That's when Paul's eyes become a challenge. "Show me," he says, setting his Snakebite to the side of the table.

For a moment Ethan raises an eyebrow, before deciding, "All right." He nods and downs his scotch, stretching his neck and enjoying the slide of the liquid down his throat. When he looks back, Paul's entranced.

Ethan smiles as they leave, feeling like a bent Professor Kirke on the way to the wardrobe.

* * *

He never finds out if the boy wanted more from him than the magic. Chaos is like heroin: it buggers your libido right to fuck all. More than that it sets in pretty quick.

But that? It suits Ethan just fine.


End file.
